


Rakash

by Ikea



Category: Styx: Master of Shadows
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7060156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ikea/pseuds/Ikea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Look at what you've become.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rakash

**Author's Note:**

> (don't read this unless you've finished the game, it would ruin it for you)
> 
> Decided to post this here since there's ONLY ONE OTHER OOAM/SMOS FIC ON THIS ENTIRE SITE. WHAT THE HELL.
> 
> Anyway, during the latter half of MoS and after I completed it I was very curious about the original Styx. He's a very tragic character (and reminds me of Gollum). In this fic I tried to explore his character a bit more.
> 
> P.S English isn't my first language so feel free to point out any mistakes I might have made and I'll fix them!

It’s dark and cold and damp. There’s mold growing on the walls and insects crawling around. And in the middle of the room there’s a table and you stand hunched over it. You’ve gotten used to the place, after all these decades. But deep down it still bothers you. It reminds you of who you were. A proud member of your clan, with a future. With a purpose. And now you’ve been reduced to a small rat hiding in a rundown tower in the sky. Digging in the corpses of elves by candlelight, trying to find a key to undo what you’ve done. With nothing more than a small sliver of hope to keep you going. Or maybe it’s no longer hope. Maybe you’re convinced. Once you get your hands on the Heart you have to find a cure. Absolutely must, or your efforts will all have been for naught. Failure has been erased from your mind. What’s left of it, at least. It’s awful, isn’t it? Having that golden gook eat away at your brain, the only thing you thought you had left…

From where would you like to start over? From the day you no longer recognized your own reflection? From the day your thoughts weren’t the only ones inside your head? From the day you couldn’t go four hours without a fix? From the day the first cursed drop landed on your tongue? Or maybe… From your birthday all those years ago? When your father was still alive, and asked you if you were really sure. Would you go back and say no? Yes. Of course you would. But you know you can’t. And so you curse yourself, but your words are drowned out by the voices of idiots.

Idiots, just like you.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't do drugs, kids.


End file.
